


It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

by grangered



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, also it's set in new york because i always dreamed of allison and lydia going to new york together, before well..you know, it's also a christmas fic (kinda??), it's just fluff and a bit of angst basically, there's a soup kitchen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 06:25:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6504394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grangered/pseuds/grangered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Scott’s in town. He got me flowers and tickets to Broadway. And I know I’m the one that convinced you to sign up for volunteering at Annie’s soup kitchen tonight but I don’t think I can make it,” Allison informs her sounding even more guilty than she did when she first called. </p><p>Lydia has to volunteer at a soup kitchen alone. That is, until she bumps into Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

**Author's Note:**

> i started this a while back and just recently saw it and decided to finish it. so this is the product of me putting off physics homework for an hour. i love teen wolf although i haven't been watching the show for a while and stydia were like my first ever ship so it would be completely unfair if i hadn't written anything about them. the summary to this story is so bad but i suck at those always so oh well. and the title is the cheesiest thing i have ever written, but again, i tend to be awful with those too.

“Lydia, I am so, _so_ sorry,” Allison says through the phone, her voice going high at the end.

“Well that’s never a pleasant way to start a phone call, Allison,” Lydia says calmly but her heart’s beating quicker as she grabs a bottle of lilac nail polish off her table and settles on her bed.

“Scott’s in town. He got me flowers and tickets to Broadway. And I know I’m the one that convinced you to sign up for volunteering at Annie’s soup kitchen tonight but I don’t think I can make it,” Allison informs her sounding even more guilty than she did when she first called. Lydia’s heartbeat slows down as she finishes painting her left hand.

“Jesus, Allison. You sound like you’ve committed murder. It’s fine, I’ll go on my own,” Lydia reassures although there’s a spark of annoyance that flares up in her when she thinks of the long trudge she’ll have to make to get to the soup kitchen.

“I know you will, but I feel bad. I could always call Annie and cancel, if you wanted,” Allison placates. Lydia snorts.

“And make me look like a terrible person? No thank you, Argent,” she says in a tone she hopes makes Allison feel less guilty.

“I really am sorry, Lyds,” Allison says and Lydia rolls her eyes at how guilty she sounds.

“Allison, you have a date to get ready for. Now, I firmly believe in _not_ dressing up for men but you haven’t seen McCall in six months so you’ll probably want to wear something nice and if you spend all your time acting like you’ve committed treason, you won’t be able to.”

Allison laughs and Lydia smiles, finishing off her last finger nail before moving onto her toes.

“If you’re sure,” Allison says unsurely.                                                              

“I am. Plus, if you cancel on Scott he’ll probably pout like the over-grown puppy he is. And I _know_ for a fact that you cannot resist that,” Lydia laughs and her tone is teasing.

 “I’ll call you tonight.”

“I reckon you’ll be a bit busy to do that,” Lydia teases and Allison tells her to shut up, not unkindly, before they bid their farewells. Glancing at her phone, she realizes that she only has a half hour to get to the soup kitchen, so she puts away the lab assignment she had been working on before Allison called, and makes her way towards her closet, looking for something warm to wear.

*****

It is 6:46 pm and Lydia Martin is officially late. She trudges through the melting snow, scrunching her nose when she feels the cold wind slap her cheeks. Glancing at her watch she realizes she has approximately ten minutes to get to Annie’s soup kitchen and lets out a groan when it further dawns on her that she still has three blocks to walk. There is barely anyone else on the street except for an angry looking teenage girl and her even angrier looking mother, trudging towards a diner. Suddenly, Allison’s offer of just not showing up seems rather pleasant.

Lydia’s main issue really, is that she _hates_ the winter. She hates having to wear bulky coats and boots that make her feel like her feet are attached to two cement blocks whenever she walks. She hates the feeling of the harsh cold against her skin and how red her nose becomes. She hates how cold the winds are, like a slap in the face whenever she leaves her dorm to pick up the bare essentials from the grocery store around the corner. Mostly though, she hates how everyone seems to disappear once snow begins dusting the grounds and the Christmas lights come out. All her friends would retreat back to their parents’ homes, all buzzing with excitement over how they would finally have a break from school and how they would have actual home cooked meals and not the awful mush they served in the cafeteria. It isn’t like she’s jealous of them, she just sometimes wishes her mother would give her a call and invite her over for dinner so she could tell her about the terrible cafeteria food and how difficult but _brilliant_ her micro-biology course is.

Fifteen minutes later, Lydia’s toes are numb and she’s standing in front of a large wooden door, the bright yellow paint peeling off of it. She carefully tugs the handle forward, relishing in the warmth of the room she’s in. She comes face to face with a dark skinned girl, whose hair is done in an intricate braid.

“Lydia, right?” the girl says, and she smiles at Lydia so brightly that Lydia can’t help but try give her the biggest smile she can muster.

“That would be me. You must be Annie?” Lydia asks, shaking her hand.

“Indeed I am. We’ve already been put into our groups for the night, so I might’ve already sorted you into one. I hope you don’t mind,” Annie says, still smiling.

“I don’t, and I’m sorry about being later. I think I got lost.”

“Happens to the best of us,” Annie says warmly and Lydia realises that Allison was not exaggerating when she said that Annie was probably the nicest person in the whole of New York. She leads Lydia to a bench, already set up with steaming pots of soup and large loaves of bread. She introduces Lydia to a tall boy manning the stove, and Lydia smiles at him although he’s slightly distracted by whatever it is he’s cooking.

“There are only three people at your station, including you. We’re running short on volunteers unfortunately,” Annie adds as Lydia takes off her coat. Lydia wonders who the third person is as she ties her hair up in a ponytail, only to have her thoughts interrupted by a very familiar voice.

“Lydia?” Stiles says in astonishment and she looks up to find him staring at her, half in awe and half in shock.

“You both know each other?” Annie asks curiously, and Lydia clears her throat.

“Stiles and I went to high school together,” she says.

“And middle school. And grade school. Basically all of school except for college,” Stiles adds and his voice sends a shock of nostalgia through her bones. Annie hums in acknowledgement before sending them a warm smile and excusing herself.

“What are you doing here?” she asks Stiles because as far as she knows, he’s off at UCLA doing a course on forensic science.

“I’m on Christmas break and Scott convinced me to come here instead of go home. And now he’s ditched me for Broadway,” Stiles says but he doesn’t sound annoyed and there’s a small smile on his face.

“And Allison,” Lydia adds and he grins at her.

“And Allison,” Stiles agrees. Then, “what are you doing here?”

“I school here?” Lydia says and she’s ninety nine percent sure Stiles already knows this.

“No, I mean here. As in this soup kitchen.”

“Oh,” she says and pauses. “Allison and I were both supposed to be here today but she ditched me for McCall, so now I’m here alone.”

“Not alone anymore,” Stiles reminds her, smiling again. He looks the same he did when she last saw him two years ago. His hair is longer near the top, and his jaw is sharper than before but he’s still gangly and loose-limbed, with the warm eyes and plaid shirts.

“You’re not the company I was hoping for,” Lydia mocks and Stiles snorts. It’s odd, seeing him after so long. She had repressed her feelings for him at the end of senior year, too tired both mentally and physically to try allow something to happen with him. He had never held it against her though, and she was grateful. Then, college happened and their weekly texts turned to infrequent ones and she didn’t speak to him until she saw in Beacon Hills two years ago. Even then, it was a rushed hug and a small hello in an aisle at the local supermarket, before he had to pick his dad up from work.

“We should get to work,” Stiles says after a pregnant pause and Lydia nods in agreement. A few minutes later, there’s a rush of people coming into the store and Lydia’s already got plastic gloves on and a serving spoon in her left hand. Stiles stands next to her, spreading butter on thick slices of warm bread and there’s heat radiating off of him that Lydia unintentionally leans into. She starts spooning soup into bowls, dropping a plastic spoon in each one and smiling at the people who walk by her. Stiles apparently, _has_ to make conversation with each and every person who comes by, even if they look disgruntled or angry.

Serving goes on for hours and before she knows it, Lydia’s legs are sore and her left hand feels like it’s going to cramp any second now. Stiles has butter all over his hands and a smudge of it on his nose too, but Lydia doesn’t tell him because she finds it slightly endearing. When the last of the people leave the soup kitchen, it’s almost as if all the volunteers let out a sigh of relief although there are small smiles on everyone’s faces.

Everyone gathers in the main kitchen at the back, and Annie stands in the centre with a large grin on her face and a bright gleam in her eyes. Her hair is still impeccable and her hands have been washed clean.

“Thank you,” she says and then, “thank you so much. This wouldn’t have been able to happen if it weren’t for you. You guys sent all those people home with a smile on their faces and food in their stomachs.  I’ve wanted to do this for a while but people have been reluctant to give up their Christmas Eve for others. Thank you so much.”

Everyone cheers, giving each other hugs and Lydia looks around for Stiles who’s currently in a very animated discussion with a young boy. Annie walks up to her, and Lydia pulls her into a hug before bidding farewell. She goes into the back room, grabbing her coat and gloves before slipping them on.

“Lydia!” she hears as she makes her way to the door. She turns around and Stiles is walking towards her, pulling one arm through his coat. “Were you going to leave without saying goodbye?”

“I thought you had already gone,” she lies because she’s too endeared by Stiles already and that can never be a good thing.

“We could get hot chocolate,” Stiles suggests instead. Lydia cocks her head to the side, giving him a look.

“It’s almost one in the morning, Stilinksi. I think _Starbucks_ would be closed by now,” she says and Stiles looks sheepish.

“I just haven’t seen you in a while, and I leave tomorrow morning,” he says and Lydia doesn’t really like the idea of him leaving but she keeps that to herself.

“I think I have some hot chocolate at my dorm,” she says instead and she can visibly see Stiles brighten up.

She lets Stiles lead the conversation throughout the walk back to her dorm. His eyes gleam whenever he mentions his forensics course and how it’s going, and his fingers are almost always fidgeting in his gloves. Not that she’s staring at his fingers or anything. He tells her about how his dad is doing, and how he’s fairly sure that he’s dating Mrs. McCall and he sounds like a little boy when he mentions the prospect of him and Scott becoming brothers. Lydia listens and adds in comments when she thinks she should but for the most part, Stiles just talks and talks and talks and Lydia hasn’t realised how much she had missed this, had missed _him_ , until now.

“We’ll have to make the hot chocolate here,” she says when they get to the common kitchen area of her dorm. She drops some caramel and milk in a pan, leaving it on the stove and goes to find the bottle of hot chocolate that she keeps in a corner on a shelf near the window of the kitchen. Stiles insists on adding sugar stars and marshmallows to the hot chocolate and Lydia tries not to cringe and the excess sweetness she tastes when she takes the first sip. They walk to her dorm room in silence, arms brushing every now and then.

“My room is kind of messy,” Lydia says as she opens the door and Stiles merely shrugs.

“It can’t be worse than mine,” he reassures and Lydia snorts because he has a point.

He sits on a chair near her desk and Lydia sits on the end of her bed, tucking her legs under her thighs. The sit in silence, drinking their cups of cocoa and it’s not uncomfortable but it is slightly tense.

“Why did you stop talking to me?” Stiles asks her abruptly, setting his cup on her desk.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she retorts because she doesn’t know how to respond to him.

“You stopped first,” he accuses and Lydia rolls her eyes.

“We’re not twelve, Stiles. Are you really going to play the blame game?” Lydia asks and she knows she’s becoming defensive but she lets the sentence out of her mouth anyways.

“I guess we are. You just stopped talking to me, Lydia,” he retorts and his eyebrows are drawn together. He looks hurt or angry, or both, Lydia thinks.

“I got busy,” she says.

“You still spoke to Allison,” Stiles argues.

“She lives in New York too.”

“And what about Scott? He’s in California too and you still managed to make time for him.”

Lydia takes a final sip of her drink, lets the warm liquid go down her throat. She’s running out of excuses and Stiles looks even more upset.

“You can’t just avoid the question, Lydia,” Stiles says and he sounds angry.”

“I’m not!” she snaps. “I don’t know how to deal with what I feel for you.”

Stiles eyes widen almost comically and his jaw drops slightly. He still looks angry but he also looks confused and Lydia shouldn’t be amused by the range of emotions that pass over his face because they _are_ having a serious conversation, but she can’t help it.

“What do you mean?” he says and his voice is low.

“You _know_ what I mean,” she counters.

“No, I don’t, Lydia.”

“I loved you. Love. God, I don’t know!” she says and sounds angry. Stiles mouth opens and then closes.

“I thought I had gotten over it, gotten over you,” she continues. “But you come back two years later with your stupid _Star Wars_ references and your plaid shirts and just; you confuse me so much Stiles.”

She looks up to find his eyes trained on her. She can see his chest moving beneath his plaid shirt, and she wants to take back everything she’s said because he’s not reacting and she does not feel like experiencing the sting of rejection on Christmas Eve.

“Lydia,” he starts and then stops.

“You don’t have to say anything, Stiles. It’s fine. You’re leaving tomorrow. We can act like this never happened.”

“No, I don’t think we can,” he says quietly. “I uh, I love you too.”

“You don’t sound very sure about that, Stilinski,” Lydia says and her heart is hammering in her chest and it’s the first time she’s ever felt this way around a boy.

“I am. I do. I just, it’s a lot to take in,” he says and he looks nervous and Lydia suddenly feels a rush of affection flow through her body and she so desperately wants to kiss him.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” she says and she’s already off the bed and moving towards Stiles. He looks up at her, when she stands above him before he places a hand on her waist. She sinks into the touch and he pulls her down and suddenly, her senses are _consumed_ by him. She tugs on his hair gently and he opens his mouth and lets out groan, gripping her waist more firmly. His lips are soft against hers and she presses her chest against his, wanting to get as close as possible. He pulls away first, resting his forehead against hers.

“That was nice,” he says and his voice is deep and Lydia grips his shirt tighter, pressing another kiss to his lips. He smiles into the kiss and she feels something break open in her chest.

“If you’re going to critique my kissing as just _nice,_ then you’re not going to get very much of it,” Lydia says against his lips.

“You know, I have a flight tomorrow morning,” he says and he looks sad.

“You’re killing the mood,” she jokes but she shifts on his lap, pulling him closer.

“You think we can do long distance?” he asks.

“I hope so. There are just so many beautiful men around New York who wear more than just plaid. It’ll be hard for me, but I think I can,” Lydia says and Stiles chuckles. She moves off of him and he lets out a sound of protest but lets her go.

“Oh Lydia, it was your humour that I truly fell for,” Stiles says drily and Lydia lets out a laugh. She adjusts her skirt, and lets her hair out of the ponytail it’s been in and Stiles eyes’ follow her every movement.

“We can do it, Y’know,” she says more gently. Stiles nods and there’s a small smile on his face.

“We should sleep,” he says and Lydia hums in agreement.

“We should. But I’m going to shower first.”

“We should also try conserving water,” Stiles says and his cheeks are red but his eyes are bright. He stands up and adjusts his shirt.

“That sounds dull,” Lydia says and laughs when Stiles looks mock offended.

“I’ll prove you wrong,” he counters and Lydia can’t say no to that now can she?

**Author's Note:**

> aaaaaaaand that's it! i hope you liked it. as always, comments absolutely make my day and kudos are greatly appreciated. 
> 
> p.s. this isn't really edited so i apologise for any mistakes.
> 
> -V


End file.
